Do They Like Me?
by tinyrobotlover
Summary: G1: Optimus wonders if people really like him or if they're just nice to him because he's the Prime. He decides to ask Prowl about it.


**So I pretty much only ever write for Prime, but I decided to give G1 a try because... I mean, it's G1.**

* * *

"Do you think I'm a likeable person?"

Prowl looked up from the datapad he'd been studying and watched the Prime carefully. He briefly wondered if he'd misheard the question, but he was Prowl and Prowl didn't mishear anything.

Optimus sat across the table from him, staring into his cup of energon as though it were the most interesting thing he had ever seen. He shifted uncomfortably in the silence and, only once, dared to glance at the tactician to make sure he had heard.

"Well?" Optimus asked after several long seconds.

"Well." Prowl blinked, picked up his own cup and took a sip of his rations. "Where does this inquiry come from?"

Optimus looked at him then. "I wonder at times. I am the leader of the Autobots so it makes sense that others might act friendly toward me out of respect or obligation, but am I really likable? I feel like sometimes the affability shown me is a mere act in order to keep up morale."

Prowl put his datapad down, offering Optimus his full attention.

The Prime continued, "You pay attention to details, Prowl. Do I seem standoffish? Superior? Distant? I try not to, but-"

"But being Prime comes with more responsibilities than most would notice, taking your time and attention away from social activities, making you appear uncaring and uninterested in the lives of your Autobot troops," Prowl finished plainly.

Optimus nodded slowly. "Yes, that about sums it up." His shoulders dropped and he let out a long sigh.

Prowl picked his datapad back up. "I wouldn't worry. The Autobots are not so shallow, Prime. They understand—or at least think they understand—that you're busy keeping them alive. They don't blame you or dislike you in any way."

"They don't _dislike_ me, but do they _like_ me?"

Prowl thought about that. He looked around the rec. room at the many little social groups that had formed since they had first awoken on earth. Some sat at tables chatting and laughing at each other's stories while sipping on their day's rations. A few sat in the corner cheering as Sideswipe, Bumblebee and Cliffjumper competed in a bowling tournament on the Wii Spike had brought over and Chip had made Cybertronian friendly a few days ago. Ratchet, Wheeljack and Perceptor spoke in hushed tones about some new experiment of theirs while Red Alert tried ever so valiantly to look as though he were not eavesdropping on the conversation while at the same time trying and failing to mask a look of growing horror at what he was hearing. And then there were Prowl and Optimus. Two officers sitting in the back corner of the room, excluded from the goings-on of the Ark. Outcasts by their own choice and rank.

"How should I interpret your silence?" the Prime asked, pulling Prowl from his thoughts.

"Again, I wouldn't worry. You have friends."

"Hmm." Optimus seemed to deflate. "Such as?"

Prowl blinked. Was he serious? "Ratchet-"

"Has Wheeljack."

The tactician frowned. "Don't interrupt."

"Of course."

"And don't smirk."

"I'm not smirking."

Doorwings twitching, Prowl tried again. "Ratchet is allowed more than one friend, Prime. He enjoys his time with you."

Optimus shrugged. "That's because I don't spend as much time on his table as some. He likes anyone who isn't constantly getting blown up."

"Ironhide would lay down his life for you."

"A loyal soldier through and through," the Prime said, sinking into his seat like a Sparkling while somehow maintaining a dignified air of authority. "I'm not sure that counts as true friendship. He never would have given me a second glance if it weren't for my being a Prime."

"You knew Jazz before the war, correct?"

Optimus nodded.

"And you were friends?"

"…Yes."

Prowl's frown deepened. "What?"

Optimus dropped his gaze. "Well… He has you now and-"

BAM!

Then entire room grew silent as wide optics turned to look to where the Autobot SIC had slammed his fists against the table. Prowl gave them all a harsh look of warning, sending them back about their business with a sense of fear that easily overpowered the curiosity of the optics. The auditory sensors, however, were not so easily turned away.

"Listen to me, Optimus," Prowl said quietly, towering over his startled leader. "I don't know where this pity-party of yours is coming from, but it ends now. Jazz is, was and always will be your friend. Not because it's his job, but because he's that kind of bot. He doesn't care about caste or status, but about the person himself. He sees the best in everyone and never gives up on his friends. I know, because he's my friend and it takes a very special bot to be willing to become and remain friends with me.

"As for everyone else, they might have started as soldiers, but they're more than that now. They stand by you because of obligation, yes, but rest assured that their loyalty is deeper than their Autobot insignias. You have earned the trust and respect of every soldier on this base and, for the most part, that is very hard to do. Yet you have done it and, more so, you have proven to be a personal leader who cares about the well-being of his followers.

"Ratchet, Ironhide and Jazz are your friends because your paths crossed at some point in your life and you hit it off. That would have been the same even without the Matrix of Leadership, the War for Cybertron or the Senate making you Prime.

"Bumblebee looks up to you, as do the others, but more than that, he adores you. Not because you're the big boss bot, but because you've proven yourself to him as someone worthy of his adoration. His friendship.

"Even Grimlock likes you, Prime! So stop acting like a Sparkling, pull yourself together, accept that you are the most loved and liked mech on this planet and. Move. On." He sat, snatching up his datapad and sipped at his energon as though nothing had occurred.

Optimus stole a glance around the room. For a moment, all optics were on him. But only for a moment. They looked away and tried to act as though they hadn't heard anything. It was noble of them, but no less embarrassing.

Jazz walked in at that point. He paused at the door, cocking his helm at the sheer awkwardness of the room. Once his gaze fell on the table at the back, however, his usual grin returned to his face and he sauntered over.

"S'up, OP. Prowler," he greeted. He plopped himself down on the seat beside Optimus and looked around. "So, what happened here? Everyone's all awkward and weird."

The Prime averted his optics, making Jazz worry.

"Who'd the Cons kill?"

Optimus looked at him, shaking his helm. "What? No! No one. Everyone's fine."

Jazz looked from him to Prowl and back. "Oooookay…"

"Jazz, do you like Optimus?" the tactician asked without looking up from his reading.

"Uh… Yeah. Why?"

"Do you consider him one of your friends?"

Jazz gave Optimus a confused look. "What's he talking about?"

"Answer the question," Prowl said.

"Yeah. One of my best friends."

The Prime fidgeted uncomfortably.

Jazz watched him carefully, mind reeling at what could have him acting so strange. He gasped. "Whoa! Uh-uh, Prime! Don't you dare tell me you're dying! I ain't gonna accept that! Whatever it is, we'll find a way to beat it, you hear me! We'll get you fixed, so don't you go writing your will just yet! I refuse to lose any bots on this planet, especially you! So just-"

"Jazz."

The TIC turned to look at Prowl. He wore an amused smile on his face.

Jazz then realized that he was standing over Optimus with the whole rec. room as his audience, barely holding back their laughter over his frantic display. He sat back down. "Did I miss something?"

"Yes," Optimus said, optics bright. He was obviously smiling behind his mask. "Thank you, Jazz."

The Prime rose from where he sat and crossed the room. Everyone clapped and laughed and a new more joyful energy filled the space while happy chatter rose from the group.

Jazz stared for a few seconds before turning to Prowl and asking, "What just happened?"

Prowl grinned at him. "If I told you, I wouldn't be able to enjoy your oblivion."

Jazz frowned. "You're a jerk of a friend, Prowler."

"I know."

* * *

 **And there you have it.**


End file.
